


Freefall In The Dark

by Niko_Niko_Neek



Category: Corpse Party (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, I swear to god they're happy in the end, Injury Recovery, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Blood Drive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niko_Niko_Neek/pseuds/Niko_Niko_Neek
Summary: Sometimes she can remember the names and faces of everybody she’s met-they’re clear as day, frozen in the same place they had been on the photograph which now rests on the windowsill of her small apartment. Other times, she isn’t sure she’s ever known anybody at all.But, without fail, she always remembers one. Even if just the face.'He had a name', she thinks to herself. 'Why can’t I remember what his name was?'Post Blood Drive fic where everything turns out fine in the end, I promise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You might be wondering, if you've been following me on this platform, whatever happened to Floor It, my other AyuShiki fic? Well, after reviewing it yesterday, I realized that I made a ton of references to Yoshiki having blue eyes. His eyes are grey. I am too embarrassed to update.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fix-it fic!

Every hospital Yoshiki has ever been to smells exactly the same.

He can’t remember when he was born, but he has a faint memory of his sister’s first birthday. There isn’t much outside the fuzzy recollection of childhood. He remembers not being allowed to hold her, but being permitted to look down at Miki’s little face. Yoshiki can remember marveling at how anybody could ever be that small.

There were a few more hospitals after that, here and there. Stitches from when he was twelve and fell down on the sidewalk. A bad burn on his arm from the first time he’d tried to operate the stove in his new apartment. Different places at different times, but the strong scent of disinfectant accompanies every single one, along with the fluorescent lights and the linoleum.

This particular place is different. Probably because it isn’t technically a hospital. It’s one of those long-term care places, like an assisted living center. A place for people to go when they weren’t going to get any better.

It’s nice, though. There’s a bright green hedge out front, and even a little water fountain.

He brought flowers. The bouquet of sunflowers dangles from one hand, wrapped in a sheet of protective plastic. He was told by the florist, a delightful old man with a thick mustache and crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that sunflowers showed dedication. Hope. Unwavering love. Truth be told, though, Yoshiki didn’t really pay attention. He picked the sunflowers because they were bright, and because he thought she might like them.

He feels strange as soon as he walks in the door. Nervous. Scared of what he’s going to find, how bad it’s going to be. Still, there’s a chance that she’ll only be here temporarily, and he clings to it with all the stubborn tenacity of a child who is told his parent might think about getting desert after a meal. 

She could be okay.

She could be.

Maybe.

The lady at the front desk has been smiling at him with vacant politeness, and she seems to have been repeating herself when she asks, “Can I help you?”

His mouth and throat suddenly dry, his voice is a little hoarse when he speaks. “Uh...Sh-Shinozaki. Ayumi Shinozaki?”

The woman hums, scans down a brief list. “Are you a relative?”

 _No,_ he thinks. _In fact, lady, I don’t know if I’m much of anything anymore. I’m an almost. I’m an ‘If things were different’._

Out loud, he says, “I’m a friend from school.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Her tone is totally empty, but he notices when she adds, “She hasn’t actually had any visitors yet. I’m sure she’d appreciate it. Room 203, just upstairs and to your right.”

Yoshiki nods, but doesn’t move. The woman is staring at him in expectation.

“Did you have any other questions?”

His voice is still hoarse when he replies. “How, um...How bad…?”

At last, some emotion appears on her face, and his stomach drops at the expression of sympathy. “Not very good, I’m afraid. She might not recognize you, but don’t let that get you down too much. I know she’d appreciate someone coming to see her.”

His brow furrows, and he finds himself answering with a puzzled, “She said…”

Whatever one sided story he had, it was clear when she answered her phone that the desk worker was not particularly interested in it.

He repeats the words to himself as he begins his long trudge up the stairs.

_Even if you forget me, I’ll never forget you, Kishinuma._

That’s what she’d said. She’d promised.

But a lot of things had been said like that. Satoshi had promised Yuka that they’d leave together. Seiko had promised Naomi she’d be right back from the bathroom.

Promises didn’t mean very much anymore.

His footfalls are muffled on the carpeted floor. He passes an older woman who smiles at him. Up the flight of stairs, there is a plain row of doors, each labeled with a different number. 203 is staring him directly in the face. The placard shines a full brass beside the door, which rests halfway open.

He remembers, suddenly, about a time when he was little. He’d been about to open his bedroom door to go out into the living room and ask for a drink. His parents had been fighting-he couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been, but this must have been around the time when it started to escalate. He remembered they’d been fighting about him, and it was maybe the first time he really realized that. For the duration of the fighting, he’d stood frozen in place, watching his door and deciding not to open it, because if he kept that barrier up, then maybe everything would go away.

He’s twenty-two years old now. He’ll be twenty three in a few months. And still, he feels like a six year old who doesn’t want to open the door.

He forces himself in, and is greeted with a sight that seems far less dramatic than what he’s used to. There are no dead bodies, no remains, no organs or limbs scattered or strewn about the place. The walls are painted a simple shade of green that makes him think of toothpaste. The furniture is very simple-he sees an armchair, a television, a tiny kitchen. Through a small hall to his right, he can see the entrances to what appear to he a bedroom and a bathroom.

He looks at the room before he looks at Ayumi, because it’s easier.

Somehow, despite the vacancy in her remaining eye, despite the total lack of expression and awareness, she’s still so beautiful. The staff had fixed her hair to be worn down rather than in her typical hairstyle, and it’s been nearly brushed and looks clean. Even though there are visible bags under her eyes and her cheeks look sunken, it’s clear that she’s been well taken care of, and that makes Yoshiki feel a little bit better. Just a little.

Her face is hardest to look at, and it has nothing to do with the eye patch that covers one eye. It’s the expression-rather, the lack of expression. She’s staring downwards, gaze empty, face devoid of any indication that she’s angry, or annoyed, or sad.

He stands near the entrance of her room and wonders, for the thousandth time, how anybody could hurt a person like Ayumi Shinozaki.

He swallows thickly. “....Hey.”

There’s no response. Yoshiki decides to pretend that she’s still thinking about what she wants to say to him.

“You’re hard to find, you know that? I had to try four other towns near here to see if anybody had heard of an Ayumi Shinozaki. Though I guess that figures, considering.”

He takes a few steps further into the room, looking around the place again.

“I think your apartment is nicer than mine is,” Yoshiki comments. “Oh-right. I brought you some flowers. Kind of a get well soon thing, right? What do you think?”

He holds the sunflowers up. A tiny bit of drool clings to the corner of Ayumi’s mouth.

He decides to try and remember what Ayumi night say in response. If he tries hard enough, he can just faintly hear her voice in the back of his mind. Maybe something like _They’re nice, Kishinuma-kun, but aren’t they a little big?_

“....Yeah, I think they might be a bit much. Still, I’ll put them in a vase or something. Just a sec.”

His hands are shaking when he begins to open up all the kitchen cupboards, searching for a jar or a glass. The urge to start picking up objects at random and hurling them across the room is very strong, so he shoves it down in favor of locating a glass vase and filling it up at the sink. He places the flowers in them, and holds them up.

"You want them near the window?”

Silence, thick as clotting blood. Again, he tries to picture her voice. Her expression. He feels like maybe she’d smile and nod in agreement.

“...Yeah. I think they might get a bit more sun that way.”

He crosses over to the window and sets his present down. His hands haven’t stopped shaking. He stares out of the window, his face blank, and tries again to keep up the imaginary conversation with the Ayumi he remembers.

_Kishinuma-kun, your hair looks so different._

He reaches up, self-consciously running a hand through his now jet-black hair. “Yeah, I stopped dying it a while back. You didn’t think I was a natural blonde, did you?”

He tries to remember what her laugh sounds like and the fact that he can’t is what finally breaks him.

He feels his jaw tighten, his face screw up as tears, hot and painful, well up in his eyes. His voice has a tight, muffled quality when he tries to talk through them.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d come and say hello, and see how you were, and I just did that. But you’re just…”

He turns from the window and her profile blurs in his vision. His voice finally cracks.

“You’re just gone, aren’t you?”

Yoshiki approaches her at last, kneeling at the front of her wheelchair, settling his hands on both armrests, just beside her forearms. She doesn’t so much as move, her good eye still blankly fixated on nothing at all. He can feel tears dripping off his chin, and a few of them land on her lap.

“Ayumi? Can you hear me?”

There’s nothing, nothing, nothing.

“Is it because I yelled at you that one time?”

The whole room seems like it’s laughing at him as he searches frantically for some kind of concrete reason for why this always happened to them. 

“Was it something I said?”

He reaches up and takes one of her hands in his and it’s so small in comparison. 

He rests one arm across her lap, buries his face there, and cries like his heart is breaking.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

So this is what it means to be dead.

No, not dead, exactly. If she were dead, she’d be with Mayu and Hinoe and the others. If she were dead, she could talk to Seiko and Morishige and tell everyone how sorry she was, how hard she tried to make it right. If she were dead, she could at least rest.

She’s not. She’s something worse now.

The outside world comes to her as though it were a dream, so vivid, but disappearing rapidly in the morning light until she can scarcely remember what her own first name is. She assumes she has a body of some sort, but she can’t feel it-not the breath in her lungs, nor any heat or coldness in her extremities. It’s like being underwater. Underwater in the dark.

Sometimes she can remember the names and faces of everybody she’s met-they’re clear as day, frozen in the same place they had been on the photograph which now rests on the windowsill of her small apartment. Other times, she isn’t sure she’s ever known anybody at all.

But, without fail, she always remembers one. Even if just the face.

 _He had a name,_ she thinks to herself. _Why can’t I remember what his name was?_

The answer is as clear and final as the ringing of a chapel bell. 

_The price for staring into eternity, Ayumi Shinozaki, is that eternity stares back._

The last moments in her life are the most frequently remembered. She remembers the scent of soot, the crushing weight of rubble, and then, something strangely out of place.

She remembers being held. She remembers being warm. And then, nothing.

_You’re just gone, aren’t you?_

Ayumi Shinozaki freefalls through the dark. She wonders, if no one is there to hear it, will she make a sound when she hits the bottom?

_Was it something I said?_

Far away, it sounds as though someone is crying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit gory at the beginning, but it doesn't last long.

_The air smells like gathering mildew and sulfur as you lie with your back against the creaking floorboards, staring absently at the rotting ceiling. It’s interesting, how quickly the human mind adapts to whatever is happening around it. Even being transported and locked into a supernatural dimension with no means of escape os something you can accept, or at least become accustomed to._

_“You know what the first thing I’m gonna do when we get out of here is?”_

_His voice breaks the silence, and you turn your head to observe him. He’s lying a few feet away from you in such a way that, had things been different, you might’ve been stargazing or cloudwatching together. One hand is resting behind his head, and the way the candlelight glints off his hair, it appears almost silver._

_“I’m going to get a hamburger.”_

_The statement is so random that you blink over at him. “A hamburger…? Like, one of the American ones?”_

_He nods. “Yep. I want a giant one with everything on it.” He pauses, considering, before adding, “And a milkshake. And some french fries.”_

_You snort. “Those things aren’t that good for you.”_

_“If I get through all of this, I’m allowed to eat whatever I want.” He turns his head to face you. “What about you? Anything you want.”_

_Since your mind’s on food, your furrow your brow and look up at the ceiling in thought. “I want...Fruit.”_

_“Fruit?” You hear him scoff. “Jeez, Shinozaki, you’re boring.”_

_“Fruit is delicious!” You snap. “I want all kinds, too-melon and strawberry...Oh, and some kiwis, too, and apple slices…”_

_He groans and rolls over. “Goddammit, now I’m really hungry.”_

You want to wake up?

_The memory shifts and twists away. Maybe it was never there to begin with. Days are so hard to tell apart anymore, but through them, there’s something that draws you to the surface of your freefall more often. You feel hands, clumsy but gentle, brushing through your hair._

_“I can’t remember exactly how braiding works-Miki showed me one time…”_

You want to face the consequences?

_A little girl’s laugh, high pitched and malicious, echoes in your head. You aren’t alone in here anymore, and the realization spikes panic through your chest in a sudden stab._

People don’t leave Nirvana without paying a price.

_You took my eye, Ayumi thinks. You took my friends. You took my sister. You took everything. What more could you possibly want?_

Silly. I’m not taking anything from you.

_A hand, small and ice cold, burns into your own._

I want to give you something.

_Suddenly, she’s so desperate to avoid whatever gift this twisted child thinks is appropriate, that she almost screams, but in a flash, it’s too late._

\------------------

It’s hard to tell how many times she dies.

First, she remembers teeth sinking into her throat, air hitting her neck in a way that is so fundamentally wrong. She remembers strips of her flesh being torn away. Did she try to fight, or was the shock of it so much that she’d just laid there, playing dead?

What was the line from the kid’s book?

_I’ll eat you up, I love you so._

Funny. When he’d first leaned down, she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

But the flood doesn’t stop there. She remembers standing in the deserted hall, just outside the entryway, blinking in surprise as she realizes her torso has been neatly separated from her legs, and she actually hears her lower half his the ground before she pitches sideways. She remembers her thoughts becoming clouded, disjoined, finding herself daydreaming about cradling a brunette boy’s head-just his head, so he couldn’t walk away-and then being revolted. She remembers the thoughts, intrusive and all consuming. She remembers holding his hand in hers-

Just his hand. Nothing else. There hadn’t been anything else left.  
She remembers drowning, then suddenly a white-hot cracking sound as the water around her turned to a vaccum.

She remembers-

_Don’t ever do something like that again!!_

The scent of burning hair-

_I’m telling you I love you, goddammit!_

But she doesn’t remember running.

All the times she’s died. All the times that path, her path, had-

Wrong End.

Come cut inevitably short.

A crack of thunder raises Ayumi Shinozaki from her hospital bed, one hand reaching desperately into the darkness for something that isn’t there, something she needs.

_“Yoshiki!!”_

\------------------

“I can’t really remember how braids work. Miki showed me this one time.”

The brush is held steadily in one hand as Yoshiki sits in a chair behind Ayumi, frowning at the long locks of hair and trying to remember if you started under or over. He’s formed a numb kind of habit in the past few weeks. After his admitted breakdown the first time he’d seen her, Yoshiki had decided that, like it or not, Ayumi needed somebody with her and that somebody would probably need to be him. So, he shows up, usually after work. Plays his guitar, sometimes. Reads out loud.

This is the first time he’s ever brushed her hair though.

At first, he thought it might’ve been creepy-she wasn’t exactly in a state where she could give him permission, after all. But, her hair had been pretty frizzy when he’d shown up today, and girls never liked that kind of thing.

“Hm. I guess I can just give it a shot.”

He decides to start under. It’s slow work-he keeps worrying he’s pulling too hard at her scalp and she just can’t say anything about it. The thought never crosses his mind that she might not be able to feel at all. Instead, He just tries and fails a couple of times, curses under his breath.

Eventually, though, he’s managed a single, clumsy braid down her back. 

“There. A little different, huh?”

Yoshiki looks over her shoulder at her reflection in the mirror they’re both sitting in front of. Of course there’s no discernable expression on her face. He imagines that, were she aware, she’d probably make fun of his efforts.

“I think it looks okay.”

“Excuse me.”

There’s a light rap on the doorframe, and Yoshiki looks up to see the young, brown-haired nurse who takes care of Ayumi on the weekdays. He likes her-she at least makes an effort to talk to Ayumi the same way he does, and her personality reminds him faintly of Naomi or Mayu. There’s that same, compassionate nature.

“Hi. Sorry, c’mon in.”

She does so, carrying a small tray with a pureed dinner for Ayumi. They’d been trying to get her to chew a couple times, but he’d been too fraught with second-hand embarrassment for her to watch it happen. He guesses now that it wasn’t successful.

“I don’t mean to interrupt. She seems a little more at ease with you around.”

Yoshiki smiles, but it’s hollow. “That’s okay. I should probably head back anyway.” He stands, putting the brush back down. Hopefully the nurse didn’t think he was some stalker. As he crosses to leave, though, a thought strikes him.

“Hey...You don’t think she could have some fruit, could she?”

\-----------

Yoshiki Kishimuma woke with a start.

He couldn’t remember any dreams, but he’s sure he must have had some. His blankets are snared around his neck like fishing line, and his t-shirt is soaked through at the chest with cold sweat. He’s breathing hard, the last bit of panic from whatever nightmare he’d been having mounted in him.

He shuts his eyes tight and remembers the breathing technique his therapist taught him. In for five seconds, hold for three, our for four. Repeat.

He’d told the guy it was PTSD from abuse at home. Easier than the alternative.

The sky is still dark outside. He looks out of his window for a moment, listening to the traffic outside and wondering why he felt so odd. He hadn’t had nightmares for a while. Maybe it had been finding Ayumi again-he’d been devoting all his efforts into doing so. Now that he had, all that extra energy had nowhere to go, and was playing tricks on him.

He jumps again when his cell rings, vibrating on his bedside table. He runs a hand back through his hair. The number isn’t one he recognizes.

He picks up. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Kishinuma?”

He frowns at the tone of voice, checking his clock. Three AM...They can’t possibly be calling him to work at this hour, could they?

“Speaking.”

“Hi, I’m from the Assisted Living Center. I know it’s late, I apologize for that, but I thought you would want to know right away.”

His breath goes cold and dead in his lungs.

So this is it. How fitting that it would be now, after he’d just spent a few weeks with her. He knows her state was a hard one, knows that all things considered she would probably rather be dead, but he selfishly wants to demand more time beforehand. There’s still things he wanted to say to her, things he wanted her to know.

He takes a deep breath.

“What is it?”

Having steeled himself for the worst, he’s struck as though by a bullet when he hears what comes next.

“She’s awake. And she’s asking for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet.

He walked in to the soft sounds of nurses walking in and out of Ayumi’s room, bringing various clipboards and trays and other things he didn’t recognize. One hand, calloused, rested against the doorframe as movement attracted his attention in one of the adjacent areas. 

“I’m fine. I don’t need any.”

Her voice was quiet, but nonetheless audible, a soft and almost hesitant cadence as though she were weighing every word she spoke. He had heard her voice before, and knew what it sounded like when she was afraid, or angry, or thoughtful, or sometimes humorous. He would know her if she shouted and he would know her if she whispered. He would know her if she hated him, or loved him, or barely thought about him at all.

A nurse made eye contact with him and he almost startled, brought back to a sudden awareness of his own feet. He lifted a hand, hesitant to enter even as the woman waved him further into the room.

She was sitting up in bed. He could see the back of her hair, still smooth from where he had brushed it out that morning. She wasn’t facing him, seemed to be looking out of the window at something he couldn’t see. At the motion of the nurse nearby, though, she turned and looked at him.

There was exhaustion still remaining in her face, but her eyes were a clear blue that met his gaze and held it, unwavering. Her expression turned to shock, then something he couldn’t place. She froze him where he stood.

Then, she reached a shaking hand out for him.

Yoshiki half walked, half ran, half stumbled through the doorway of the bedroom, his vision hot and blurred. When he was close enough that her hand grasped his wrist and he felt the warm grip of her fingers, the strength left his legs and he dropped to his knees with a thud. 

“Yoshiki.”

She was crying, he could hear the way her voice shook. Her arms clenched around him so tightly that he would’ve been concerned about breathing, if he’d thought to breathe at all. When he inhaled, he could smell her hair-the shampoo the attendants had used to wash her hair with, green apples and floral scent. There was something else there, too, something he couldn’t describe, something familiar. It was subtle, but evident. He would say it was jasmine, but even that didn’t seem quite right. He’d smelled it years ago, the first time they’d entered Heavenly Host and he’d held her through her possession.

Her hand reached up, petting the back of his head. His fingers were fisted into her shirt so tightly that he could feel his palms sweating. And then, his voice, heard as though from a great distance.

“I hate you. I hate you for doing that. I hate you for doing that to me.”

He doesn’t though, and she probably knows, because she only holds him tighter.

 

It’s unclear to Yoshiki how long they remained like that. It could’ve been a few hours. It could have possibly been a few days. It was only when he heard an audible sniff from, Ayumi that his grip loosened, and a thought pops up in his head, so sudden that it strikes him as comical.

“Don’t blow your nose in my shirt again.”

He lifts his head and is met with a view of her face, red either from crying or his comment, but certainly indignant. “I don’t do things like that.”

Even overwhelmed, Yoshiki has the strength to argue. “Four times. At the school.”

She opens her mouth to argue with him, but then shuts it. He’s right, and knows it. He had to throw that shirt out when he’d gotten home.

“How are you here?” Ayumi asks, soft and wondering, and her palm suddenly comes to rest on his cheek. She seems to catch herself doing it and pulls it away, and his face feels colder.

“I followed you.”

They’re still in each other’s arms. Her brow furrows, quizzical.

“How did you follow me?”

“The everafter stones.”

“...If you used those, then no one here would remember you.”

His answer his simple, eyes shining grey in the dark. “You remember me.”

It doesn’t reassure her, and he feels her hand tighten in his shirt. “Miki…”

If anything were to pop the joy of the moment, it would be that. Yoshiki’s arms slacken, and his gaze goes distant and sorrowful.

“Why would you do something like that?” Ayumi asks, tearful once again. “Write yourself off from anybody? Couldn’t you be happy without me?”

“No.”

The answer only makes her cry harder. She hides her face against his chest and he holds her and wonders why bad things always happen to them.

It’s less that they fall asleep and more that they collapse. Conversation is nearly non-existent. Ayumi’s vocal chords are grated and weak from lack of use, so that her voice is more like a whisper. Yoshiki, on the other hand, doesn’t have much to say.

That’s not exactly true. He has too much to say, which is why he doesn’t say anything.

He awakes to sunlight from the window beside the bed, a warmth to his right. Ayumi is still sleeping, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of his proximity. Her palm is resting flat over his chest, just at where his pulse is.

He falls asleep again listening to her breathing.


	4. Chapter 4

The air is sour and dusty around them, the only visible lighting a dull and unearthly red which seems to emanate from the very walls. His heart beats in his throat. Ayumi’s hand clutches the front of his shirt as he holds her tightly in both arms, as if any moment she might crumble into dust. Perhaps she will. 

“Yoshiki.”

Her voice barely emerges from her throat. She blinks slowly, her remaining eye half lidded, profoundly exhausted.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warns. “You’ll be fine. I can fix it. You’ll be fine.”

The seconds slip as rapidly as water through sand. The book of shadows remains open on the floor near where they are crouched. 

He hates her. He hates her for being so prideful, so self-sacrificing. He hates that she decided this is her fault, that it is her responsibility to fix it. Most of all, he hates that she has.

“It’s funny,” he mumbles, turning her head so that her cheek is pillowed against his chest. “I don’t know if I really want to go anymore, now you’re here.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice is shaking as much as the rest of him.

Their eyes meet, grey against blue, like the contrast of a winter day. “Did I ever tell you?” She asks, and before he can ask her what she means, the rafters give a final shudder and the corpse of Heavenly Host collapses around them.

He wakes slowly from the dream, strange considering that most nightmares leave him panting and sitting bolt upright. This time, though, Yoshiki’s breaths are still measured, even as a hand to his face reveals that his eyes have become watery. The warm weight from yesterday is still on his chest, this time more securely as Ayumi has wrapped one arm around his torso. The side of her face is hidden against his shirt, so all he can see is the white eyepatch, shot through with tiny black dots to try and offer the wound some breathing space.

The dream is a haze between a memory and what is likely his own imaginings-he doesn’t remember Ayumi trying to tell him anything, only recalls holding her in the moments before finding himself alone, a million miles away. There hadn’t been time for any confessions or conversation. There hadn’t been time for anything.

Ayumi sighs, her arm tightening around him in her sleep. He wonders if she knows she’s technically holding him at the moment, and what she might think about it when she does wake up. It would likely be embarrassing to her-she was always ridiculously self-conscious when it came to contact with pretty much any boy, not just him. Even Satoshi, who’d been the one-sided object of her affection for so long, had been met with a stunned and slightly dissapointed stare whenever he so much as brushed past her. And if Yoshiki so much as grabbed her arm to pull her out of danger or something? Forget it.

Of course, it didn’t remain that way, especially after they’d escaped the first time. But still, Ayumi has always been a reserved person. Maybe a little old-fasioned, even.

Absently, he reaches up and threads fingers through her hair. It’s unexpectedly soft. Her brow creases and a soft hum escapes her as she nuzzles into his chest.

His heart aches. What had happened to her, during the catatonia? Had she known he was there, counting the hours in a frustrated and angry state as her physical body remained still and unresponsive? Did she remember any of it at all? Maybe her mind had shut away too, until...Something had happened.

She wakes up gradually. Her brow creases as though in concentration, fingers twitching a little. Her good eye flashes open rather suddenly, wide and almost startled.

“....Hi,” Yoshiki says quietly.

The somewhat unexpected nature of their current position seems to sink in little by little as Ayumi frowns, a flush creeping steadily from her cheeks to her neck. As predicted, she sits up, carefully extracting herself from him. Her eyes avoid his face, and she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Uh-...Um, hi,” she manages, clearly flustered.

Yoshiki suddenly feels the need to explain himself. “You kind of grabbed onto me once you fell asleep. I didn’t want to move and wake you up, so…”

“It’s, um.” She swallows. “It’s fine, I just wouldn’t normally….Anyway.” Shaking off her nervousness, Ayumi looks at him squarely. Again, his heart sinks at the lack of one eye, not because it’s changed her appearance, but because it’s simply another blaring reminder of his failure to keep his promise and protect her.

Her eye drifts away again. She’s noticed his staring at the patch, and her hand drifts slowly towards it.

“It should’ve been me. Fighting Queen.”

“It doesn’t matter. It happened.” The blunt, quick pace of her response makes it clear that this is a topic she doesn’t want to elaborate on.

Yoshiki sits up with a heavy sigh, staring at his knees. A moment passes.

“How could you do it?” he asks, and though he can feel her staring at him, he doesn’t look in her direction. “Leave everybody? Give up everything, just like that?”

She swallows. “Somebody had to. And It had to be me.”

“It shouldn’t have been you.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” This time, there is fire in his voice, and his hand curls into a fist on top of his knee. His fingers squeeze tightly. “Why couldn’t you have just left like everyone was telling you? You could’ve gone somewhere else, never had to deal with that place again.”

“I couldn’t have let it happen again, not to somebody else like that-”

“Why? Yoshiki demands, finally lifting his head to look ather, his expression twisted in grief. “Why couldn’t you have? Everyone else could have fixed it-your mother, your grandmother, Hinoe-”

Her expression changes, suddenly. “Don’t talk about Hinoe.”

Upset as he is, he knows better than to press that subject, and quickly swallows back the rest of his words. Ayumi takes a deep breath-the cold anger leaves her face, and she looks very tired.

“Sometimes-...Sometimes there are things you have to do, and they aren’t fair. Sometimes you want so badly to be somewhere, or be with someone, but when you have a responsibility-”

“Fuck your responsibility. You were a kid. We were kids.”

“I know that, Yoshiki, you don’t need to talk to me about how hard things were!”

At this, he gets to his feet.

“I had to watch you die. Because of some heroic bullshit you decided you had to do.”

“That bullshit saved everyone!” Her good eye flashes in indignation, and if she’d been able to stand, he was certain she would have done so. “Just because you’re too self-centered to understand-”

“You left me there,” Yoshiki blurts. “I loved you, and you left me there.”

The first fraction of his statement passes through without his notice or permission. It’s only the sudden, stunned expression on Ayumi’s face that clues him in-she appears like he’s struck her.

His stomach drops. Now was not the time, was such a far cry from what might have passed as a good time to say something like that, not when she was still struggling to recover from her injuries, was still emotionally reeling. He may as well have thrown a brick and expected her to catch it with her hands tied.

He takes a step backward, his stomach knotting.

“......I don’t-”

“I should go.”

They speak at the same time. Yoshiki is already turning towards the door, blood pounding in his ears.

“Yoshki-”

“I’ll come back tomorrow to check on you. Forget about all that, it didn’t mean anything.”

He’s gone before the door even shuts all the way. From the pressing silence of her room, Ayumi finally manages speech, addressing the emptiness as if hoping for answers.

“...It didn’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the delay!! I was expecting to be able to update this pic while in Hungary taking my language course, but the wifi at my dormitory was far too poor to be able to upload anything. I hope you enjoy. Also, thank you so much for the positive feedback-I seriously wasn't expecting to get such a response! It means a lot to me to read your comments, and I'm so glad I'm able to provide some quality Ayushiki for you all (Because let's face it, this tag needs more love.) I hope you continue to read and enjoy :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and all of the outstanding feedback! A longer one today, I hope you enjoy :)

One of the consistent things about Yoshiki Kishinuma is that he always comes back.

Whether that be back from a smoke break outside, on the school rooftop, or back from venturing down the winding hallways of Heavenly Host, or back across time and space itself, Yoshiki always comes back.

Which, in hindsight, is why Ayumi isn’t worried when the door shuts behind him and leaves the room with a silence that seems almost to buzz, Ayumi still immobile in her chair as she fights to process through the words that were just exchanged. She’d expected the argument to happen eventually, if she was being honest with herself. There was a part of her, obvious even as much as she tries to avoid it, that is furious with Yoshiki for jeopardizing his own safety, his own existence and happiness yet again, despite the fact that she had surrendered her own just to ensure he had his. And for what? For her?

She swallows. Carefully, Ayumi wheels herself across to the sliding glass window, where a balcony looks out over the countryside. There are many buildings-restaurants, businesses, some homes-but not too many. None that jeopardize the green expanse of trees as the hill goes up and meets the sky some hundreds of kilometers away.

Getting herself outside is difficult work when it’s just her, and Ayumi’s brow furrows in concentration and effort as she tugs herself out, using a hand on the glass door’s edge. Her palms have become dry and sore from pushing herself by the wheels. The wheelchair is necessary for now, but it’s also confining, and she feels somewhat trapped.

The fresh air is worth it. For a moment, the whirlwind of why’s and what if’s that seem to constantly plague the young woman’s mind lift and dance away as a warm breeze hits her face. A bird is singing, somewhere, and the sunlight is warm on her skin. Ayumi sighs, leaning back against her chair. She needs the sun. Her skin looks distractingly pale, and she was sure Mayu would have something to say about it if she was here.

 _Mayu._ A hollow smile crosses Ayumi’s face. The loss of their classmates had settled into a dull ache over the years. When it had first happened, Ayumi hadn’t even really felt it-the whole situation had been surreal to the point of delusion, and she’d gone to bed the first night after their return fully convinced that she would wake up and see everyone back at school the next morning. Instead, there had been three empty desks, sitting in accusatory silence.

 _Your fault._ The chairs had seemed to say. _If it wasn’t for your charm, we would still be here._

Now, years had gone by, and though it hadn’t hurt any less, it’s no longer the only thing she’s ever thought about. Grief, Ayumi reasons, is like a game of bounce. A ball bounces along from corner to corner, and every once in a while it hit the target and you felt everything all over again. But the court got larger over time, and those breakdowns happened less and less frequently.

A small ashtray is present on the railing of the balcony, a few fresh butts still smoking within. Somehow, even though he was only just there and they’d just been fighting, Ayumi misses Yoshiki again. It isn’t a matter of co-dependance as it had been in the school, where she’d needed anyone human to be with her, but a simple desire for his presence. Two days since she’d become lucid and, already, she doesn’t feel right with him not there.

(Shes hoping it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d been told he loved her not ten minutes ago.)

 _Stop whining,_ Ayumi muses with a small shake of her head. _He’s been dealing with you for days. Some time away is probably good for him._

And indeed, some part of her wondered what it would be like if he never came back, but the possibility is so minute and far away that she doesn’t entertain it for very long. Yoshiki always comes back. There’s a warmth in her chest at the thought.

She was sure there was a study done somewhere, about how people bonded quickly and more easily in terrifying situations. Two strangers, if they’re in the same building or room together when an Earthquake occurred, would probably be best friends and band together in the aftermath. It was human nature to want to form a connection with someone-it increased your chances of survival if you were working together. Ayumi could readily admit now that he’d been one of the only reasons she’d been able to escape Heavenly Host alive, just as she’d saved his life countless times when they’d gone back. The change wasn’t particularly dramatic or sudden. One moment, she’d disliked spending time with him (he was crass and intimidating,) the next, it was difficult to picture life without him in it.

_Slow down, there. You’re acting like a highschooler again._

Maybe she never stopped being one. She’s twenty something, and doesn’t feel it. She’s never gone out drinking with friends, or had a real job, or even been on a real date. She’s exorcise spirits and lost an eye and sanctified unholy ground, but she had no idea how to drive a car.

It doesn’t seem particularly fair.

She hears the sound of the door unlocking, but doesnt turn around. It’s one of two people-hospital staff, or Yoshiki, and Ayumi finds herself equally amicable to either one at the moment. The tell-tale swish of scrubs gives away the identity of the man approaching her.

“It’s good to see you outside, Shinozaki. I was going to prescribe you some fresh air.”

Dr. Yu-Jin is a Korean man, older and always seeming lively. It makes Ayumi hate him a little less whenever he has to check up on her legs and thought process, both of which can take a while.

“Hi, Yu-Jin.” She says with a smile, wheeling her way back inside. The Doctor shuts the door carefully behind her.

“No boyfriend today?”

The playful jest, which previously would have made Ayumi go beet red and stammer a furious retort, now only makes her roll her eyes. “Nope, you just missed him.”

“Darn.” The older man chuckles, kneeling near Ayumi’s chair. “Well, just a few basic stretches today, and then I’ll be gone for a while. I want to see how your mobility has been.”

She’d tried walking by herself, one morning while Yoshiki was still asleep. She’d barely managed a single step before her knees, unaccustomed to carrying the weight of her body, gave out and she’d landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“You think I’ll be able to walk soon?” Ayumi asks, wincing as Dr. Yu-Jin maneuvers one over her legs straight out, his hand gentle on her heel.

“There isn’t any paralysis here, Shinozaki. I know you’ll be able to walk. I’m just not sure if it’ll be soon. It all depends, okay?”

Defeated, Ayumi nods.

The examination and questions are very routine. How was she feeling? On one to ten, how is her pain? Any dizziness or muddled thought? Has she been taking her medications? Mostly the pills are vitamins, supplementing the fact that she had scarcely been able to eat when she had not been lucid, but they’re still something of a pain to take every day, mostly because there were so many of them. Still, Yu-Jin is kind and friendly, and Ayumi hates to disappoint him. She’s sure he has children, or if he doesn’t, she thinks he ought to.

Yu-Jin leaves, though not before presenting Ayumi with a sketchbook from the gift shop downstairs. The gift itself is rather moving, and she beams and thanks him several times.

Still, it isn’t long before her pencil touches paper that she realizes she can’t quite draw like she used to.

She at one time doodled on a near constant basis, in class, during breaks, whenever she’d had the spare time. Since escaping, her drawings had turned graphic-bodies without heads, inner organs, bloodied walls. She’d been careful to hide those, not wanting anyone to think she was a sociopath.

Now, though, when she sets pen to paper, an ache starts in the muscles of her hands. She feels clumsy, probably due to the sheer lack of motion she’d gone through for so many months.

Still, she grits her teeth and presses on.

She’d never been very good at portraits, normally sticking to objects or landscapes to draw ideas from, but little by little, her subconscious seems to betray her. A figure, leaning on the railing, looked at from the side, bangs tufting outwards a little. A thin pencil-whisp of smoke, issuing from his mouth.

It’s not very good-the face seems too choppy, and her hand spasmed at one point, making his leg look like it was dipping down into the floor, but other than that, it’s recognizable as Yoshiki.

Has she gone even five minutes without thinking about him since he’d left?

This was getting ridiculous. With a huff, Ayumi shuts the book Knowing him, he’d probably come back and pretend that none of their previous conversation had ever happened. Boys were annoying that way, or in particular, Yoshiki was. He’d already said it, so what was the use of acting like he hadn’t? Life didn’t work that way.

Once again, Ayumi finds herself wishing Hinoe was there.

Her sister. That’s a loss that has never stopped hurting, not for a second, even if she hadn’t always been thinking of it. It manifested as a lump in her throat, a hollow in her chest that never went away. Her sister, whom she’d followed and annoyed ever since she could walk, who would let her use her clothes to play dress up in, who had taught her almost everything she’d ever known.

A quiet, pained noise leaves her throat, and all at once, she’s crying without realizing she’d started to.

Heat rises in her face and chest as she hunches over, hugging the new sketchbook to her chest just to have something to hold on to. She’d managed, while adjusting to lucidity and trying to navigate whatever ground she new held with Yoshiki, to go a few days without thinking of what had happened to Hinoe, how raw and real her death had been, and most of all, the fact that she didn’t even deserve it.

Ayumi had been the one to tamper with time. Ayumi had been the one to drag everyone back. Ayumi should have been punished. Hinoe had never hurt anybody.  
Her bad eye makes it so that it actually hurts to cry.

Eventually, her sobs turn to hiccups, and though the tears subside, the pain doesn’t. She’s in the process of trying to wash her face when Yoshiki returns. A sense of panic accompanied his arrival. Though she doesn’t look as bad now, she’s still obviously been crying, and her eye is red. Not to mention, she now has a headache.

Still. She’s glad to see him.

“Hey, Shinozaki.” It’s obvious, when he looks at her face, that she knows she’s been crying, but he has the good grace not to mention it. “Sorry-I looked at the date and it actually just hit me what today is. I didn’t mean to forget, it was just...You know, with everything going on.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s today?”

Puzzlement now drifts over Yoshiki’s face, and he holds up the paper back in his right hand. “It’s, uh...It’s your birthday. September twelfth, right? You’re, uh...Twenty today, I think.”

Her eyes widen. She’d completely forgotten. “You remembered something like that?”

Yoshiki shrugs and he avoids looking at her, which normally means he’s embarrassed. “I just happened to remember today. You remember Mayu would always bring in sweets and stuff for the class on that day?”

“....I do, yeah.” Ayumi replies, a little surprised that she does. It seems like it had happened thousands of years ago. “I remember they were always so good, too.”

“Right. Well, I dunno if I can one-up that, but.” Yoshiki holds the bag higher. “I brought some stuff.”

“You didn’t have to do all that, Yoshiki,” Ayumi protests, wheeling out into the front room of the apartment. Yoshiki takes a seat on the couch.

“I know, I know. But still. Might as well have some kind of party for it, right? Even if it’s not the same.”

It’s a very sweet gesture, and Ayumi hopes that the fact that she’s just finished bawling her other eye out is concealing the fact that she may or may not be blushing. “Well...Let’s see what you got, huh?”

That makes him grin. The first thing he pulls out is a very small cake, one of the individual ones available at the grocery store. It’s strawberry. Then, a bottle of cherry-flavored sake, which makes Ayumi quirk a brow at Yoshiki.

“....If it’s terrible,” Yoshiki says, “I’ll use it to water the plant or something.”

“You can’t water the plants with alcohol,” Ayumi says, giggling despite herself. “You’ll probably kill them.”

He shrugs. “Well, the third thing is...A bit different. I didn’t actually buy it, it’s from...Well. You’ll see.”

She removes the final object from the bag. It’s a plain notebook. She looks to Yoshiki for a moment for clarification, but he merely gestures for her to open it.

The first page bears a photograph of Satoshi. He’s different-older, standing with a class of collage graduates, and looking proud. She looks at Yoshiki, bewildered.

“I did some hunting before I found where you were,” He replies softly. “None of them remember us here, but...They’re alive. I thought you’d want to know how they were doing.”

Understanding dawns. That’s true-with the reordering of things, she and Yoshiki are technically guests of the world, erased from their individual lives. Which meant that…

She looks carefully at Yoshiki’s handwriting below the photograph. _Satoshi, Working towards therapist license._

The page turns. This time, it’s Naomi and Seiko, in a picture that seemed to be lifted from one of their social media pages-it’s a selfie. 

_Seiko-Kindergarten teacher. Naomi-nursing degree. Engaged August 24th._

Her vision begins to blur all over again.

_Mayu-Clothing designing program._

_Morishige-Theatre Technician._

The last photograph takes her breath away. The young woman depicted is smiling towards the camera, her eyes carrying the same steadfast determination that Ayumi remembers, her hands folded in her lap.

_Hinoe Shinozaki. Certified medium and spiritual guide._

Trembling. Ayumi traces her sister’s face. Alive. She’s alive here, and an only child, carrying on with her life free from violence or pain.

“I’m sorry if it’s a little too much,” Yoshiki offers, clearing his throat. “I just thought you would want to know.”

“Everyone looks…” She pauses, trying to gather composure. “Everyone looks so beautiful here.”

Yoshiki places a hand on her back. “Yeah. It was tough trying to find your sister anywhere, but eventually I did. She has her own website and everything now.”

“She would’ve loved you,” Ayumi replies with a watery smile. “I mean it. She would’ve really liked you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yoshiki manages with a nervous laugh. “But I know she would’ve been proud of you. Knowing what you did, to save everybody. I know she would’ve.”

Which, on top of the cake and the painstaking research and the constant solidarity, is the final thing that makes Ayumi say _fuck it_ , and kiss Yoshiki Kishinuma.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Fluff everywhere!

He makes a noise like he’s surprised, but it’s small and muffled against her mouth. It becomes rather clear to Ayumi that trying to angle herself around her wheelchair in order to kiss Yoshiki-who, even sitting, is taller than her-might not have been the best idea.

It’s an akward first kiss-she misses dead center and ends up more at the corner of his mouth. He’d been about to speak, so their teeth click, and she’s trying to keep a hand on his shoulder to maintain her balance.

Everything about it is perfect.

The expression on his face when she draws back is stunned and soft, as though that single action had pierced through whatever remained of the stoic composure he presented the rest of the world with. His eyes, typically sharp and defensive, are wide. His cheeks are flushed. Ayumi thinks, selfishly, that she wants to see this exact expression a hundred times more.

“That….” His voice, like his face, is soft and stunned. His hands have moved to her arms, partially to try and support her as she’s craned sideways. Her core muscles, still embarrassingly weak, are already aching with strain.

“So. Scrapbooks really do it for you, huh?”

That makes her laugh. She wraps her arms around his neck and lets him lift her up from the chair so her thin legs are resting over his knees, and Ayumi buries her face in his neck and laughs until she almost cries.

He’s laughing, too, and that’s the best part.

Eventually, the chuckles die down, and she’s left with the distinct realization that she’s just kissed him, and is currently practically sitting in his lap. Yoshiki doesn’t seem to share this self-consciousness. Perhaps, she reasons with a pang of guilt, it’s because he’s waited for something like this for so long. His fingers stroke down the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

“Really, though. What was that for?”

The question makes her raise her head to look up at him. Situated this way, their faces are still close, but the lack of distance is somehow more comforting, probably because they’ve already shared a bed once.

“Everything,” Ayumi replies. One palm settles against his cheek, her thumb running back and forth along his jawline. He sighs, leaning into the contact. 

“You know I would’ve given you that sooner if I got all this out of it.”

“Maybe,” Ayumi says, her famous impatience flaring up a bit, “You should stop discussing my so-called thing for scrapbooks, and kiss me again.”

She doesn’t need to ask him twice and this time, the kiss is different. His hand cups the back of her neck and he leans in with an almost practice ease.

Kissing Yoshiki seems like second nature. It’s as if she’s done this dozens of times already and has simply forgotten the details. The faint taste of tobacco, earthy and sharp, is detectable once he tilts his head a fraction to the side. For once, she doesn’t mind the habit all that much. More palpable is everything else about him-the warmth of his arms, the softer texture of his hair (ditching the bleach has made it thicker, almost), the small hum that rumbles in his chest that she can physically feel go right through her.

She doesn’t want to stop kissing him. She wants to give him one for every time she should have, one for every time he’d saved her either physically or perhaps without knowing it. She wants to kiss him until all his pain and his heartache slips out through his mouth and she can take it away from him forever.

Reality hits, though, because when his hand moves to the small of her back and presses her closer, her right calf starts to cramp.

“ _Dammit,_ ” Ayumi swears through gritted teeth, forcing herself to pull away from him enough so that the sharp complaint in her leg begins to dissipate. His brow furrows in concern-always that concern. Always that determination to help her.

“Are you alright?”

She chuckles. “ _I’m_ perfect. My _limbs_ are being terrible.”

His hand moves down to her leg, just above her knee, but the gentle back and forth movement does a lot more pleasant distraction than anything else.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should carry you over to bed.”

 _Sweet boy._ She leans up and kisses his nose. “I’d appreciate that, Yoshiki.”

He’s unbelievably gentle when he picks her up, one arm crooked beneath her knees and the other supporting the small of her back. “You carried me out of the pool like this, didn’t you?” She comments with interest.

“Not quite. You were on my back then.” 

That’s right-the memory stirs now, her cheek resting against the back of his shoulderblade. The gentle sway as he’d walked.

He sets her down, and seems as though his next move is to take a seat on the chair nearby, but Ayumi tugs on his arms before that can happen. “I don’t remember giving my escort permission to go anywhere.”

His brow quirks. “Did they give you more pain meds or something?”

She grins up at him. “Nope. Just high on life.”

That gets a chuckle out of him, and Yoshiki situates himself down next to her. His head is propped up on one elbow so he’s still able to look down at her, with the other arm wrapped securely around her waist. The moonlight plays a little off his face. She remembers before, when his hair was light, it had appeared almost silver. Now, it’s a jet black, the shadows making it almost a deep blue.

“How long?” She asks, reaching up to trace absently along his cheekbones. He offers a bashful smile.

“Since we were in class.”

“No way. I don’t believe you,” she replies, but the grin is already spreading across her face. She can’t help it-highschool crushes had been stolen from her, more or less, and now she wants to hear more about herself from his perspective.

“Everybody knew it,” He replied. “I was crazy about you. Still am, I just got quieter about it.”

“You were always quiet.” Ayumi remarks, her fingers lightly touching his lips. “Except when you were angry about something. You’re still that way, I don’t think that’s changed.”

“Probably not.” He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You should sleep, y’know.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to talk to you.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

Her grin softens. “You promise?”

“Sure. Where else am I gonna go?”

And, true to his word, he is there when she wakes up again.

It’s barely sunrise when Ayumi stirs, fresh out of a half-remembered dream involving Heavenly Host as always. This time, though, the visions don’t seem as graphic-they’re more muddled. She remembers mostly that Yoshiki was in it, but can’t remember much of what actually happened.

Yoshiki himself is still asleep, and it’s a rare sight. Usually he woke up first, probably trained by years of his job at the record store. He appears oddly younger when asleep, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted. She wonders mischievously if she should tease him about drooling when he wakes up, but decides against it.

If he’s dreaming, it doesn’t seem to be a nightmare, and that comforts her. They both have them so frequently. With a quiet sigh, Ayumi shifts to be pressed against him, cheek resting against the warm fabric of his t-shirt, before turning her face against his chest and inhaling the faint scent of tobacco and soap.

She loves him so much it’s like her heart is breaking.

How different would things had been if she’d kissed him sooner, Ayumi wonders? Would she have still made the choice to stay behind, for the sake of the future generations? Would they have gone on a real date before entering the school that second time? Would she have kissed him goodbye?

Would they have possibly done more than that?

Her face flushes and she does her best to banish the possibility for now. For one thing, she can barely take three steps without toppling over. Anything else strenuous wouldn’t be a good idea.

A string of mumbled nonsense sounds from above her, and she smiles a little. He’s waking up, hopefully from a dream about something good. Still, she steals the last few little moments before he fully awakens to nuzzle her nose into his neck.

“You were always so quiet,” she whispers, “You probably didn’t think I loved you at all.”

Emotion, powerful and lacking description, tumbles through her. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“I did.” she reaches up, pets the hair at the back of his neck. “I did.”

In his sleep, he shifts to hold her closer. She fights back a small sob.

“I do.”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something short, sweet, and fluffy, because I think we all could use it. Thanks everyone so much for reading this fic, I hope you've enjoyed it and are happy with this little ending piece!!

Even though the sun has long since set by the time he makes it out to the balcony, the air is far from cold. Summer has staked its claim, and the slight breeze that comes off the ocean is deceptively warm. The sky overhead is a deep blue rather than black, meaning that they still probably have twenty minutes or so before the fireworks start.

There’s a thin trail of steam curling upward toward’s Ayumi’s face, which is pale, but no longer in a sickly way. The bags under her eyes are still there, but those are on the way to vanishing as he comes to stand beside her at the railing. She takes another sip from her mug of tea, but her good eye is fixed upward at the sky with an unwavering clarity he recognizes from their school days.

Yoshiki watches her for a moment, and the thought occurs that for nearly ten years, this has been the only thing he’s wanted.

“You’re staring again.”

There’s a funny smile on her face when he quickly looks away, folding his arms atop the railing.

“...It’s just good to see you standing.”

It’s good to see her period, in any way resembling herself. It’s good to see her no longer cloaked in shadows or drenched in blood or fighting back tears or sitting, empty, in a wheelchair. It’s good that she’s with him.

“And now you’re thinking too hard. That’s normally my job.”

Her arm bumps against his and, again, Yoshiki ducks his head. “You must have been thinking just now, standing out here. Don’t blame me.”

A soft hum leaves Ayumi, and again, she turns her attention skyward. “Not about anything too important.”

Yoshiki chuckles. “That’s a lie.”

“Honestly. I was just thinking about how nice the air is out here. You picked a good place.”

Once Ayumi had been discharged, they’d been forced to navigate sharing space in his cramped little apartment-something that became clear was not going to work. It wasn’t her fault, but Ayumi had a set way she liked things, and Yoshiki’s casual manner of setting things down with no particular order often contradicted that-and in a one bedroom apartment, there was no real space for her to set out for herself. Money was another object-he’d managed to scrounge up what was left of his savings from his job, and that in tandem with what Ayumi had been alloted (along with a loan that he really didn’t want to think about), had been enough for the house.

It was small. One story. Barely any yard at all.

But it was enough.

“Alright.” Ayumi peers upward, blue eye fixing on his with that same attentive clarity. “I’ve told you what I was thinking. Now you tell me.”

He looks into her face. She looks so alive.

“It wasn’t anything important.”

“Yoshiki. If we’re going to live together, you have to tell me about these kinds of things.”

He looks back upward, the sky having faded to a darker shade. “Just that…” He pauses, takes a breath. “Do you think if none of this had happened-the curse and the school, and everything. Do you think we’d still end up…?”

The rest of the question remains unvoiced, but the softening of Ayumi’s expression tells him she understands. Maybe it’s the insecurity hidden in the question that makes her think about it first.

“I think….Maybe some people were meant to be in your life. So it doesn’t matter what happens to them, or to you, or how hard you try to get rid of them. They always come back because...Well, that was the way it was supposed to be. At least, that’s what my sister used to say.”

The answer is entirely too like her. Concise, thoughtful, with just the amount of mysticism to suggest that despite everything she’d gone through, Ayumi still had faith things were happening the way they were meant to. Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

Wordless, he wraps one arm around her shoulders. In response, Ayumi reaches up, squeezing his hand.

“Yoshiki,” she says, her voice quiet. “I-”

Boom.

Her gaze snaps upward as the first few flashes of violet and gold illuminate the sky. “Hey, there they are,” Yoshiki comments.

The few small ones further out in the sky gave way to huge blooms of orange, reds and greens. The sound of them exploding isn’t quite loud enough to be bothersome, but he can feel the faint rumble from the soles of his bare feet. 

For a moment, the world pauses. For a moment, the small yet all-encompassing fact that Yoshiki had found her, had made his way out of Heavenly Host, that his friends were alive and well even if they had no memory of his and Ayumi’s existence, drives his heart to a stop in his chest.

Abruptly, he feels her hand tighten over his. “Yoshiki, you’re crying,” she says, her voice terse.

He’s startled when he brings a hand to his face and finds that it’s true. “I guess so.”

“Are you sad?”

To this, he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ve been happy like this before.”

The fireworks overhead continue bursting with all the vibrance of a thunderstorm, trailing showers of sparks in their wake. He feels Ayumi press a kiss to his cheek, her top of her head nestled against his jaw. He feels his chest tighten with a powerful ache that’s somehow both happy and grieving all at once.

It’s a little while before they all fade, leaving the faint scent of sulfur in the air.

Suddenly, he feels Ayumi’s knees buckle. Catching her is just another instinct, one that’s been well rehearsed and addressed in the years past. He lifts her without too much effort, arms made strong by the physical demand that came along with being trapped in a crumbling elementary school.

Despite everything, she still looks away and goes pink from embarrassment. “I hate it when that happens,” she mutters.

“You didn’t walk for months. It’s still going to take some time.” 

A moment passes, Yoshiki holding her out in the summer night, before he speaks again. “I carried you out of Heavenly Host like this.”

He doesn’t look down, but can feel her staring at him. Her voice is subdued. “You never told me that.”

“You wouldn’t have remembered. It was after.”

For a moment, his shoulders tense, and the phantom scent of rotting meat washes over him. Then, her arms reach up around his neck, and he resurfaces.

“I found the stones first. Then, I told the others I was going to go back to try and find something. By the time I managed to get to you, you were gone. Not responsive, at least.”

“I remember...Small things. They seem like a weird dream I had, sort of like those times I was possessed.” Her brow furrows in thought. “I remember feeling….Warm. Then, nothing.”

Nothing. That was what she had experienced for those months, whether she remembered it clearly or not. Nothing, along with the nightmares Sachiko had bestowed, as a twisted last laugh.

“You’re always carrying me out of things.”

He looks down at her, brows raised. “Well....Yeah. That’s what I do.”

The answer is easy because it’s natural. Because it’s true.

Ayumi lifts her chin enough so that her lips find his. For a moment, there’s nothing in his head but the faint scent of her soap and the summer air, warm against his face.

“I would’ve,” she murmurs once she draws away.

Reluctant, his eyes open. “What?”

“I would’ve loved you even if none of it had happened.”

The statement is so sudden, so earnest, that all he really does is stare at her. Eventually, the corner of her mouth quirks upward with mischievous expectation.

“That’s the part where you say you would have too.”

Yoshiki shakes his head. “I did already. Before any of it.”

She kisses him again, and he feels his stomach flip, as though in freefall.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this one was sad, but I promise you everything turns out fine


End file.
